


Ride for Erebor

by Taupefox59



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Erebor is a Biker Group, Fire, Gen, Mentions of biker wars, Motorcycles!!!, Prosthesis, Sort of retelling Azanulbizar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 08:38:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7162715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/pseuds/Taupefox59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When half of Club Erebor is taken out in a freak accident, it is up to the dwarves left to remind their leader Thorin what it is that they're fighting for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ride for Erebor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PadBlack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PadBlack/gifts).



> Un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know! Con/crit always welcome.
> 
> For Padblack who asked for Thorin & Dwalin as bikers.
> 
> Cheers, my biker buddy!

  


“Stop it.” Dwalin’s voice was gruff but soft. He knew he was right, but he also knew that he had to be as delicate as he could be, and delicacy had never been one of his strong suits.

But Thorin was back in the garage, staring at the twisted remains of Thráin’s bike, the burnt and melted helmet of Thorin’s mother, Díuäres. If he kept going this way, they were going to lose Thorin too.

“They were the best.” Thorin murmured, not taking his eyes off the wreck that used to be a Harley Chopper.

“An’ it doesn’t matter if you’re the best in the world.” Dwalin said, though he felt the grief flow through him as well. “You know that as well as anyone. Better than anyone.”  Thorin turned then, and dwalin could see the devastation in his blue eyes.

“Nearly half the club, Dwalin.”

“Aye, and they all knew what they were doing.” Dwalin said firmly. It hurt - it could never not  hurt, seeing that many of their friends and family taken out by a single tanker truck, sliding on slick roads.

Anyone who wore the Colours of Erebor were proud to have them. It was their pride that had led to the crash that had ruined so many lives. They had learned that Smaug’s band had started teaming up with The Orcs, and they had started targeting children. Innocent lives were getting caught in the games being played, smuggling Mithril across the borders. It had been Frerin who had discovered their plan to burn out the entire crew of Laketown.

It didn’t matter how bad the conditions were, Erebor knew they had to help. The plan had been to go in two waves, the first to get out as many people as possible: it meant that the young and the old were going in first, the ones who were too inexperienced to be involved if it turned into a real shoot-out, and the older ones who were most knowledgeable in back roads and how to get out unnoticed by all.

It meant that Thorin had lost his parents and his brother in the same night. Thráin, Díuäres and Frerin, gone. It was only the sheer anger in Dís at the thought of being kept from a fight that had saved her life.

It didn’t matter that it was no one’s fault. Thorin had taken on the guilt as though it belonged to him. Not the horror of a freak accident, of wet roads and an Azanulbizar oil-tanker jack-knifing and tipping. The spark that had come from somewhere, leaving them trapped in a flaming hell of burning tar and inescapable fire. Some of the ones who hadn’t died from the crash had all either burnt to death, or were one of the lucky few who had suffocated from smoke first.

All except for Thráin, whose body hadn’t been found. The Fire Chief, Tauriel, had explained the his body had probably been incinerated if he was the one closest to where the original explosion had been. For all that it was logical enough, Thorin was clinging to any shred of hope, no matter how small, that there was more of his family left. That he hadn’t suddenly been left orphaned, alone with his younger sister, and half of the club that had raised them dead and gone.

“You’re not to stand here any longer. There’s a club, run by Gandalf. Call themselves the Greys. Dís says they want to help us.”

“Help us do what, Dwalin.” Thorin asked, though his voice was distant, still not yet pulled back in to the real world.

“What we were always meant to do, Thorin.”

Thorin stared out still as stone, unmoving in his grief.

“Tell me.”  Dwalin finally said. “Tell me what Erebor is supposed to be.”

“We’re the best.” Thorin replied immediately. “We build bikes for the people who need them. We create freedom for those who don’t have it.”

Dwalin grinned. Thorin wasn’t totally gone after all. “And has that stopped? Just because we lost the man who created the club, it doesn’t mean we don’t have a leader.”

It was then that Thorin turned, eyes wide. “You would still follow me? I can’t-” He lifted his arm, a wooden prosthetic he’d carved himself. It was the reason that he hadn’t been involved in the raid, having lost his left arm from the elbow down in an accident a few years prior. He’d built his own prosthetic, after everything offered by hospitals looked far too much like the claw used by Azog, leader of The Orcs.

“We build freedom for those who need it.”

It was a new voice entering the conversation. Dís stood in the doorway, arms crossed and fire in her eyes.

Thorin turned to her and stared. “What are you talking about. What have you done?”

She grinned and punched the button to open the door of the garage.

 

Standing there as the door opened were the ten members who were all that were left of Erebor: Dwalin’s older brother Balin, the Brothers Ur, though Bifur had been the sole survivor of the fire, and still hadn’t recovered; perhaps never would. The Dori and Nori, the strongest and the slyest, who had been set to move in with the second wave. Oin, the medic who would have gone with the fighters and Gloin, full of fire tempered with a strategic mind. Standing with them was Dís and her fiancée Vülí.

Together they stood behind a bike like nothing that Thorin had ever seen before, beautiful, and with specialized clutch mechanism on the right handle bar, so that even with a prosthetic left hand, he would still be able to ride.

“They built it for you.” Dwalin reminded him, when Thorin was simply staring in awe. But then something shifted, and the air itself became charged with some kind of majestic electricity. Everyone stood up straighter, and Thorin seemed to embody so much more than simply the spirit of Erebor. He was a King, and they all knew they would follow him forever.

“You want to ride, then?” Thorin finally asked, then grinned; the first smile any of them had seen since the accident. “What say you we ride the Dragons Tail then?”

And the cheer that followed echoed through the garage, and into the hearts of every single member of Erebor.

Through the ashes, they would rise again; now and always.

Because as long as people needed freedom, Erebor would be there, building hope.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to come talk to me about fic (or anything else!) come say hi at [my tumblr!](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/)


End file.
